Jern waved them into line behind him. “Don’t stand in the middle of the track,” he said. He led the line up along the eastern rock face to the top of the gully. Jern peered over the rim at the uppermost. Left and right he looked, but could see nothing. Then, straight ahead, he saw the mounds. He gestured for all to stay low while he and Uld’eth crept up to the banks of dark earth.
“They’re Salrian!” Uld’eth’s guttural whisper crackled with disbelief as he looked at the graven insignia lying on the rocks circling each mound. “They are all Salrian!”
Jern sat for a moment, overcome with quiet panic.
Gods, what could have happened here? Where is Si’eth?
That thought brought him back with a jolt. “Check the insignia,” he said. “See if the captains are among them.”
Uld’eth scurried, almost on all fours, around the graves, looking at the blackened insignia at the front of each. “There are five; none bears his mark.”
“Then there are still eight.” Jern’s first thought was selfish. The enemy had passed him by, and now five of his compatriots were dead. What would Si’eth have to say about that?
Again, Uld’eth’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “Tracks are leading to the tributary.” Uld’eth was crouched five paces in front, pointing north along the waterway.
Jern got up and crept to where Uld’eth signalled. Indeed, there were many tracks. “Whoever made these were here a long time. It is clear that our men buried them – the Surabhan would not know about burning the insignia before placing it on the graves. We must assume Si’eth and the others are still on the hunt.”
He sat for a moment, in thought. Are they hunting? But then why bury the men? Burying would take time; they must have caught them. No, the tracks would lead back west. Gods, what is going on? He turned to his men. “Spread out along the bank. See if you can find more tracks.”
It was not long before a whispered “Over here” came from Kipp. Jern and Uld’eth ran low to where tracks led into the water.
Jern knelt to study them. “There are too many, this cannot just be our men. They must have followed the Surabhan; if Si’eth had captured them, he would have gone west, and not head for the forest.”
Kipp nodded in agreement. But Uld’eth scoffed. Jern turned to him and gave the older man his best stern look. “Gather your things. Be quiet about it. They could be anywhere. We will cross in twos. Wait by those trees.” Jern pointed at two trees over on the eastern bank. He turned to Uld’eth and waited for the old soldier to acknowledge his order.
Uld’eth gave an almost inaudible “Aye, sir” as he turned to gather his pack. He signalled the others to move up from the gully where they had been waiting behind cover.
Slowly, Jern and his troop paddled through the fast-flowing waters of the tributary. Once they were all safely huddled beneath the trees, Jern pointed back at where they crossed. “The tracks lead in both directions,” he said. “Both into the water and out again. This makes no sense.”
He looked to Uld’eth for answers.
“Maybe they came back to bury them,” Uld’eth said.
Jern thought for a moment. “If that’s so, Si’eth must have caught the Surabhan. They would not give up the chase, not when they are this close. And if they have caught them, why are there no tracks heading west at the base of the gully?”
Uld’eth shook his head and gave a long sigh. “We must proceed as if the Surabhan have our men prisoner.”
Jern’s shoulders dropped. “Yes. It is beginning to look that way, is it not?” He joined the old man with a sigh of his own.
Uld’eth looked to the east. He dropped his chin and creased his brow as though he had seen something unexpected. “That cannot be a fire,” he said, pointing to where a faint orange glow lit up the trees.
“That settles it. The wolves must have come with them, helped them to defeat our men,” Jern said.
Uld’eth shook his head in contempt at Jern’s response. “If there were wolves with them, we would have seen tracks.”
“Enough, Uld’eth,” Jern snapped. “Enough of your questions. Three men and three children did not kill five and take eight prisoners without some help. They must have trampled over the wolves’ paw prints. Either that or more Surabhan have joined them.” He folded his arms and waited for Uld’eth to reply. None came. “The wind is from the southeast. We will circle north and run down along the tree line. I want an answer before we charge in.”
“Very good, sir.” Uld’eth bowed, apparently satisfied with the orders.
Jern led the Salrians a further half mile upstream before cutting across east to the forest rim. There, they slowly crept, one man at a time, to within a few hundred paces of the hollow from where a fire was making an orange ceiling of an old oak tree.
“Wait here,” Jern whispered. “I’ll go see what we have.”
The others nodded.
Jern took off his pack and crept silently along the tree line. He tested every footfall for twigs before lying down hard. He avoided every branch and leaf. It took ten minutes to come within sight of the hollow, and even then he could not get a clear view into the depths of it. However, he could see the top of Si’eth’s head, and he reckoned rightly that the travellers were not alone. The wolves were there. But where were the rest of them? Two wolves, maybe three Surabhan, and no sign of the big man and his friend? Slowly, he turned and quietly crept back to the others.
But not quietly enough…
* * *
Aleban pricked up his ears. He raised his head and sniffed the air. His lip curled as he let out a low growl.
“Can you hear something?” Grady whispered. He was sitting with his back against the fallen tree. Rolling to his side, he put down the knuckle of dried bread he was chewing and picked up his shortsword, then threw a pebble at Pengar. When the Cren looked over, Grady nodded at Si’eth and his boy. “Keep an eye on them,” he said. Pengar gave one nod then turned to face the Salrians.
“Aleban? What’s out there?” Grady asked.
“A foul smell. Sweaty human, if my nose is telling the truth. And I heard a snap; maybe a twig.”
“‘Sweaty humans’?” Grady tried not to laugh. “Are you sure it’s not these two?” He nodded at Si’eth.
Aleban sniffed the air again. “No. As bad as they smell, the other was worse. Damp and sharp, as if whatever it was had just crawled through cow muck. It might be a boar.”
Grady glanced north, then west. It might have been a boar, but if it were, Aleban would have heard more than a single twig snap. “Let’s not take any chances.” He turned to Pengar and Tanri. “Move the prisoners behind the stump. Tie them to it, please.”
Si’eth protested. Rising to his feet, he approached Grady with hands still tied and outstretched. “They are my men, let me speak to them. Truly, I want no part of Alaf’kan’s scheme, and I don’t want more of my men injured – or killed.”
Grady regarded the man. He seemed genuine enough and might have a point. “We’ll see what we are dealing with, first. Could be a rabbit.”
Suddenly, Bre’ach charged at his father, knocking him into the fire. Then he quickly turned and ran up the bank. “It’s me, Bre’ach! Don’t shoot!” he shouted.
The wolves took chase, sprinting up the bank after him.
Grady followed.
Before long, Aleban had Bre’ach by the cloth at his ankle and Mott was a second from pouncing on the boy’s back. A volley of arrows flew over the wolves’ heads, one sticking in the ground barely a pace in front of Grady.
“Leave him!” Grady shouted at the wolves. “Back to the hollow.”
Tanri had dragged Si’eth from the fire and was patting him down when Grady ran back down the slope. The Salrian was free of his bindings yet did not attempt to escape.
“Let me talk to them,” Si’eth insisted.
“You might as well. See if you can stop that fool boy of your before he gets us all killed.” He waved dismissively to the north. “Still,
I’d keep my head down, if I were you.”
Si’eth moved swiftly and took up position behind the oak tree. “Cease fire! This is your commander, Si’eth. Cease fire!”
Grady pricked his ears. Nothing. He turned to the wolves. “Can you hear anything?”
“I can hear two men running one hundred and fifty paces to the north.” Aleban raised his head to listen again. “They have stopped – less than two hundred paces. I got a quick look as they fired on us. I’d guess at five, maybe six.”
“Three is bad enough,” Grady said. “Come on. Let’s get this camp ready in case they don’t listen to our friend here,” he said to the Cren.
Si’eth was indignant. “I’m their captain, they will obey me.” He stood, jaw clenched, eyes fixed. He was clearly frustrated – or insulted – that his men were ignoring him.
A long moment passed. Si’eth shouted again and still no response – just the whisper of branches swaying in the breeze. “You might be right,” he told Grady. “Looks like that son of mine has them in a spin. They will be attacking soon.”
“What makes you say that?” Grady asked.
“As stupid as my son is, he is not that stupid. He knows reinforcements could be here any minute. He won’t wait.”
“We’ll be ready for them,” Grady said. “Everyone behind the tree. Prepare the bows and swords.” Grady turned to the wolves. “Don’t risk yourself to arrows, my friends. Wait until they are close.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” Aleban pulled the burning log over to the bushes that lay at the front of the hollow. “Quick, set this alight. With the bushes ablaze, they will have to run around to the south if they want to outflank us.”
Grady ran the flame under the bushes. It took mere seconds for a line of fire to bar the western edge of the hollow. “Good plan, my friend,” he said. “All behind the tree. You too, Si’eth.”
Si’eth nodded. “I still think I can stop this before blood is shed.”
“You’ll have your chance soon enough.”
They pulled dead branches into a U-shape, with the fallen tree at the front and their backs to the forest. The wolves waited within the trees for their opportunity to strike while Grady, Pengar, and Tanri gathered arrows and placed them in easy-to-reach nooks.
There, they waited for the inevitable. The fire on the western edge of the hollow made the rest of the night sky darker. They were going to have to wait until the Salrians entered the hollow before firing. Maybe it was not such a good idea to set light to the bushes. But at least Bre’ach and his friends only had one entrance, and the fire would blind the Salrians, too. Grady hunkered down behind the tree, eyes fixed on the northern rim, bow in hand, ready to shoot at the first sign of trouble.
“Try not to kill my son,” Si’eth said.
“‘Try not to’? You do not sound too concerned.”
“I might kill him myself before the night’s out.”
Grady thought a moment – Bre’ach was the man’s son, after all. “I’ll give you one chance to get them to stand down, and then it’s every man for himself. I can do no more than that.”
Grady looked around to see if all were ready. “We should have taken Ealian into the forest.”
“Better close than have them make a hostage of him,” Pengar said. “Besides, I doubt even Salrians would harm a sick man.”
Si’eth sniffed. “That would depend on whether or not they came across the graves you had us dig this morning.”
“It is too late to worry now,” Grady said. “But for the record, you started it.”
They waited in near silence. The crackle of the burning bush tormented Grady’s ears. Each crack of a burning branch could be a twig snapped by a Salrian foot. Definitely a bad idea! No warning came from the wolves that anyone was approaching. Maybe they could not hear above the crackling fire, either. A minute passed… two…
What are they waiting for? Grady thought.
He did not have to wait much longer…
Seven Salrians ran down into the hollow, screaming and shouting their war cry. Bre’ach and two others came on Grady’s position from behind the giant oak. The other four ran in from the west. They appeared stunned by the burning bush. The four had to change their plan quickly and move around to the north. It was a good idea after all; the fires had thwarted their flanking attack. All seven of the Salrians grouped together at the north end of the hollow.
Grady twisted around the tree and let an arrow fly, hitting one of the Salrians square in the shoulder. He cursed at his missed shot, but it was still enough to put the Salrian down. Another arrow took a Salrian in the knee. He, too, hit the floor, wailing in pain.
The five others reached the fallen tree – too close for arrows; time for the wolves. Aleban and Mott sprang out from the trees on the backs of two Salrians. Aleban tore at the neck of one but was cast off by a thick arm wielding a long knife. The Salrian stabbed at Aleban’s hind leg. He let out a yelp as the blade sliced the muscle. Quickly, Aleban bit ferociously at his attacker’s wrist until he dropped the knife. However, the thick-armed Salrian grabbed at Aleban’s neck and wrestled him to the ground. There they stayed in a virtual stalemate while the fight went on around them.
One of the Salrians hit by an arrow was back on his feet. He overpowered Pengar, and Tanri had more than his hands full – for such big men, they were not very good at unarmed combat. The two wolves were busy, too. Mott was pinned under a Salrian knee – the owner of which looked as if he dared not move for fear of being savaged – while Aleban wrestled with the thick-armed man who did not seem to care whether he was bitten or not.
Si’eth fought with one of the Salrians. A club had hit him hard when he stood and tried to order a halt. Now he was groggy and could barely contend with a man half his size.
Grady struggled with another thick-armed man – the Salrians may be short, but gods they were strong – who had dragged him over the fallen tree and was now intent on crushing Grady’s skull with his boot. Grady had taken three hits before he managed to turn onto his front and right himself. He grabbed the Salrian in an arm lock and twisted around and down until the man was on the floor. With all his might, Grady pulled at the heavier man’s neck, but the Salrian was too strong. He flipped Grady and came again, giving a vicious kick to the ribs.
The big Salrian took up a rock and was just about to crush Grady’s head when he let out a loud wail. Grady watched as his attacker dropped the rock and began scrabbling around at his back. After a moment, the man fell to his knees, and then the floor. Grady’s own long shortsword was sticking out of the Salrian’s back.
Grady looked up, expecting to thank Si’eth or Pengar for saving his life. However, in front of him stood Ealian. He gave Grady a nod.
“You’re not going to do much good down there, Mr. Daleman,” Ealian chuckled.
CHAPTER 38
What Happened to Ealian?
Gialyn pushed his fingers into his ears as Arfael let out a deafening roar. He wished the big man would stop doing that, or at least give them a warning.
The Salrians, those who were not already on the ground, dropped their weapons. They knelt and raised their hands above their heads. The two who had been fighting with Aleban and Mott cowered before the wolves’ snapping teeth. Aleban ushered them into the centre, where one Salrian lay dead, and another as good as. Three remained who might pose a threat – assuming Si’eth, who was standing next to Mott, was no longer a danger. Gialyn was going to ask the obvious question, but with everything else going on…
The hollow was a mess; someone had emptied their packs and kicked the contents all over. The berry bushes, those that had lined the western bank, were smouldering stubs. Ash covered half the ground, and where there might have been grass, only brown dirt remained. The air smelled of soot and sweat. The Salrians, so it would seem, had not washed since leaving Herann’coi.
Daric ran past Gialyn and helped Grady to his feet. “What happened here?” he asked.
“It would appear we left some Salrians unaccounted for.” Grady smiled despite what must have been a painful bruising on the side of his face. He stood and dusted off his clothes. “These are what’s left of Si’eth’s group. They disobeyed orders and turned north.”
“Aye… so it would seem.”
Gialyn followed Olam over to where Aleban lay injured. The wolf had a knife wound in his side. Olam washed the wound while Gialyn looked around to see if he could help anybody else. One of the Cren had a black eye, but otherwise appeared well enough; Mott acted as though his ego was more bruised than anything else. The second Cren, the one who had treated Ealian was standing by the – Ealian… Gods, Ealian!
Elspeth, who had been forced to wait in the trees, ran open-armed towards her brother, tears already in her eyes. “Thank the gods, you are alive.”
Ealian looked pale and a bit shaky on his feet, but Gialyn thought Elspeth’s brother looked remarkably well, considering the state he had been in when they left.
“I’ve had the strangest dreams,” Ealian said, while being hugged halfway back to unconsciousness. “I can’t explain it.” He held his sister for a long moment, smiling and contented, so it seemed.
Then Ealian saw Cal. He backed away from his sister. Blinking, he stared wide-eyed at the Cren. Ealian raised a hand to his forehead in what looked like a shaky salute of some kind. He looked dizzy all of a sudden. Elspeth ran forward to stop him falling.
“What is it?” she asked.
Gialyn looked at Cal, who just shrugged. The Cren glanced over at Mateaf, who raised his palms and shook his head.
“It’s the Raic,” the healer Cren said. “The Raic recognises its kin.”
The healer took Ealian by the elbow and led him over to the fallen tree. “Sit here, I’ll fetch you some water.”
Elspeth looked bemused as she sat next to her brother. “What do you mean he recognises his kin?” she asked. Her tone was bitter, adversarial. She put her arm around Ealian, and with her other hand raised his chin towards her. “Look at me, brother. Are you well?”
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